A warm, beautifully crafted evening where music and words come together to make Christmas feel personal
There are concerts that quietly invite you to sit down, slow your breathing, and listen as if you were being told a story by the fire. Hearing I Fagiolini at Kings Place felt very much like that. It felt less like attending a formal Christmas programme and more like being invited into a shared memory, shaped by music, words, and a genuine sense of togetherness. From the moment Robert Hollingworth settled into a deep red armchair, a tartan blanket draped nearby, the atmosphere shifted from formal recital to something more intimate and human, a Christmas gathering rather than spectacle.
I Fagiolini, under Hollingworth’s direction, have always been about balance: clarity without coldness, precision without rigidity. That balance was especially evident here, where the voices worked in complete sympathy, never competing for attention, always listening, adjusting. There is a special trust that comes from singers who know exactly when to step forward and when to dissolve back into the collective sound.
The programme moved fluidly between music and spoken word, creating a gentle narrative arc rather than a sequence of isolated pieces. Works by Herbert Howells sat alongside Marc-Antoine Charpentier, their very different musical languages somehow speaking to one another. Howells’ writing, with its unmistakable modal warmth, felt rooted in something deeply English. It was reflective, slightly melancholic. Charpentier, by contrast, brought good spirits and lightness, his lines dancing even when they were devotional. What might seem an unlikely pairing instead felt complementary, like a dialogue.
One of the most memorable elements of the evening was Hollingworth’s reading of Dylan Thomas’s A Child’s Christmas in Wales. Delivered with a gentle Welsh accent, it was vivid and entertaining. Closing my eyes, I could almost see the scenes unfolding: snowy streets, candlelit rooms, childhood rituals half-remembered. The reading was never theatrical in a showy way. It trusted the language, allowing rhythm to do the work. It almost felt like music.
I loved the way everything felt knitted together: storytelling, sacred music, and seasonal reflection. Nothing was rushed. Kings Place a great venue for the concert. It is a shame the sound was not always ideal. At times a ringing could be heard and that was a little bit distracting.
By the end, Long, Long Ago left me feeling quietly steadied. It reminded me that Christmas music doesn’t need grandeur to be meaningful. Sometimes all it takes is a few voices in perfect balance, a well-told story, and the confidence to let simplicity do the work. For a couple of hours, time slowed down and that felt like a gift in itself.